


Hiraeth

by CalamityCain, citizenjess (givehimonemore), patientalien



Category: Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Crying, Dubious Consent, Intersex Loki (Marvel), Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, M/M, Marriage, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Step-siblings, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 09:43:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain, https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess, https://archiveofourown.org/users/patientalien/pseuds/patientalien
Summary: Taken as a trophy of war, a lonely Thor Odinson ends up falling for his lovely jötun stepbrother. When in a careless act he begets the princeling with child, they must both face the judgment of the court of Jötunheimr.





	1. Unbidden Things

**Author's Note:**

> ‘hir,āeth  
> (noun)  
> a nostalgic longing for a home you cannot return to, or a home that never was

That winter was the harshest Jötunheimr had ever seen. Even a mild one would have threatened to fell Thor, raised a child of golden Asgard’s eternal summer. The weather was not the only unforgiving element: Thor knew full well his true purpose in the land of the frost giants. He was a prize, a trophy, given in exchange for Laufey-king’s mercy. While he was furnished with every comfort his well-being could want, the inhospitable nature of the land – its harsh, jagged beauty and the air that cut through his lungs – made him ache deeply for home.

There would be no sudden rescue; no storm of valkyjur at the palace gates to carry him away. He was a bargaining chip now, not a prince. He would serve Asgard in a different fashion. As long as he remained, Asgard would be safe. It did not make the bitter truth any easier to swallow. 

Of all the strangeness of his new home, none puzzled him more than his stepbrother Loki. A runt born into royalty, Loki was closest in size to him, so it was little wonder that they ended up circling within each other’s orbit.

Unfortunately, Loki was about as welcoming as a bilgesnipe.

Perhaps it was simply conditioning, the long history of blood-soaked rivalry between the two nations, that made Loki predisposed to loathe him. He certainly hoped so, and that it was not due to shortcomings of his own that made the jötun prince hostile. Just now he sat a purposeful distance away as he combed out his dark wavy locks after a bath, humming a hypnotic melody. Thor found his eyes fixed on the slender back as he warmed his hands by what seemed like the palace’s only hearth. He suspected it had been built just for him: a small mercy accorded a prisoner of war. 

“What are you staring at?” Loki snapped when he caught Thor’s gaze. The melody died on his downturned lips.

It was hard _not_ to stare, if Thor was honest. With skin the shade of deep blue frost, eyes like coal embers and silken black hair from which emerged two gracefully curved horns, he was a sight to behold. “Nothing,” he said lamely.

“Nothing, my arse – as if you’ve never seen a jötunn before. Cock-head.”

“Such princely language,” said Thor before he could stop himself.

Loki’s glare intensified, even as he shrunk away; Thor wondered for the first time if the sapling of a boy was afraid of him. Aside from the mighty Tyr, he was already the largest of the Æsir, easily twice Loki’s bulk. 

“I doubt it matters. Father has already shown you more favour in a few scant weeks than he has me my entire life.” Thor thought the coal-red eyes gleamed bright with moisture before Loki averted his face. “Like Jötunheimr needs another giant brute.”

"I am hardly a giant among your people." Thor dared to move closer, furs clutched tightly around him. “Besides - I want to be here about as much as you want me here.”

Tentatively, he reached for Loki and received a slash on the arm for it. A flare of impetuous anger rose within him. He tackled the young prince to the ground; Loki, taken by surprise, made a sharp indignant noise as he was pinned down. Thor saw the flash of a conjured dagger, the same that had wounded him, and knocked it away. “You know you’re courting trouble, don’t you? All this trouble of enslaving me did not take place so you could kill me.”

The diminutive jötunn snarled. He jerked repeatedly in an attempt to free himself, but Thor was simply too strong. “Unhand me, foul brute!” The imperious demand was followed by ever louder curses until Thor had to clamp a hand over his mouth. After a valiant struggle, he finally went limp, panting and issuing faint stifled protests.

“Shush, now. I’ll let you go. But you must promise not to stab me.”

In response, Loki growled and attempted to bite his hand. The second try was successful: Thor felt the small hard teeth sink into his flesh. His temper rose anew and he hit Loki across the face with a strong backhand. 

The prince gasped; tears filled his eyes. No one had ever hit him before. His family’s abuse had been largely neglectful in nature, and it seemed his slightness had led them to brush him from sight and mind. Friendship was a foreign concept to him, read about in books and folk tales. He had been raised a lonely child. 

Perhaps something of this forlornness came through in his demeanour, for Thor’s face was abruptly filled with regret – and something else. Loki was undeniably pretty, with his hair a mess of ink-black waves, his robe askew to expose a slender shoulder, eyes shining with tears and indignation. They remained as they were for a long moment, locked in an impasse. Thor was the one to break it, easing off Loki’s slender hips. “I am sorry,” he says.

“Apology not accepted,” came the petulant reply, but the voice had lost its venom. Curiosity was emerging from the cold façade of his delicate features, as his gaze wandered over Thor from head to waist.

“Who’s staring now?” teased the latter. 

Loki only blushed. He was a bit warmer than Thor had expected. Thor could not help noticing also how the raised whorls on his skin changed in hue with shifts in body temperature. It was entrancing. He reached down and traced the patterns near the navel, causing a shudder and an involuntary moan.

“Does this…arouse you, your kind?” he asked, blushing a little himself at the very unbrotherly sound Loki had made.

“Sort of.” A shiver sent a ripple down his lovely throat that Thor wanted, suddenly, to bite. “We have a few erogenous zones. Those markings you just touched, for one.” 

“Where else?” 

Hesitant, Loki guided his hands to the underside of his horns, which were somewhat velvety to the touch. Thor gripped them, and he let out another moan. When Thor released one to stroke the markings on his navel, purposefully this time, he began to writhe and pant. The heat blossoming from within him, the lavender-tinged flush spreading through his ice-blue skin, made him beautiful. 

_“You are beautiful, brother,”_ Thor whispered, unthinking. Loki’s eyes flew open. They had never referred to each other as such before, and it made things strangely, suddenly intimate. His mind edged back and forth between deflecting the course of things – a course he wished to avoid – and egging Thor on.

“Is there anything else you are hiding from me?” Thor rolled his hips against Loki’s so the latter could feel the sizeable erection tenting his trousers. His heart was pounding along with his burgeoning desire to fuck his little brother raw. Loki let out a whimper. He must almost uncertainly be untouched, thought Thor, and found as he traced the marks on the fine-boned cheeks and chin that he would like nothing better than to despoil this precious flower. 

He felt a wetness against his pants that was not just the princeling’s leaking cock. There was something else: something soft and slick peeking from beneath the scant loincloth.

Sensing Thor’s eyes on his hidden slit, Loki squirmed. “Please,” he breathed. Were he asked, he could not say whether he was begging Thor to stop or continue. Thor decided to treat it as an invitation, pushing aside the cloth to expose the flesh beneath the flushed male sex. The sight was unlike anything he has laid eyes on. He had had dalliances enough to have seen a few cunts, but never in jötunn-blue. Although blue alone was a crude description: the petal-like folds blushed with wondrous shades of indigo and violet and deep pink.

He knows he must have fallen silent for too long when Loki snaps: “I suppose you’ll want to stop now.”

“What…why?”

“I know enough of Æsir biology to sense what is unnatural in your eyes.” The heat on his cheeks was definitely that of shame now as he pulled away. Thor took hold of his wrists.

“Unnatural does not mean unsightly,” he says. “Far from it. You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Every inch of you.”

He released one of Loki’s wrists to slide a finger into the hitherto hidden, well-slicked folds. Loki moans and practically melts in his arms. “I…I must n-not be taken be – before my betrothal,” he whimpers. “I beg of you: stop.” And yet he continued to press his delicious body into Thor’s hands and hips. His words were lost when Thor’s mouth moved from his throat and collarbone to suck at his nipples. He gave a garbled cry when another two of Thor’s fingers slid with a wet sound into his cunt. His squirming did not help either of them show more restrain. Thor had never seen a jötunn in arousal before, but he could see now that Loki’s cheeks, chest and shoulders were tinged a lovely deep shade of lavender.

He once again traced the particularly sensitive part of Loki’s horns. “Who will marry you?” he asked. Loki made a last-ditch effort to throw him off, but only spurred him to still his flailing arms by catching his wrists and holding them down above his head. “Will they take you in both holes?” he continues as Loki squealed in frustration, his ruby eyes positively blazing. “Will they even touch your cock, or is filling your womb the only thing that matters?” 

“Please,” Loki gasped, shaking his head. “S-stop.”

“Your body does not wish me to. Shall I obey it or your tongue?”

Loki’s melodic whimpers, the juices of his now-plump cunt, were too much to resist. When he received no further protest, Thor plunged right in – much to Loki’s combined dismay and ecstasy – even as shame bloomed in his belly at the knowledge that he was committing rape. But his brother’s cries of mingled panic, longing, and raw lust spurred him on to fuck deep into those lush wet folds until his seed spilt into the depths beyond.

He was surprised at how fast he finished. Surprised, shamed by guilt and his softening cock – a foolish appendage it suddenly seemed – he pulled out with heaving breaths, leaving Loki to curl up with dawning regret on his face, in his post-orgasm breaths. 

Thor reached for him and he tensed, curling up further into himself. “You fool,” Loki wept. “I am ruined now. None will have me, for not only am I a freakish runt, but a runt who has lain with an Ás brute.”

“None need know what happened,” Thor replied, shamefacedly.

“If your seed did not spill deep enough, no. Knowing my fortune, even now your foul spend might be taking root in my womb.” He cleaned himself up in silence, refusing any help. But he was forced to accept the support of Thor’s arms when he rose to his feet, only to stumble with a wince.

“Did I hurt you – was I too rough?”

“Not much, and yes. Your beast of a cock was a tad too much for my untried parts, but I suppose you’ll just find that flattering.” A half-hearted sniffle of disdain followed.

“Not at all. I’m sorry – I truly am.” He carried the prince to a heap of cushions and laid him down gently. Loki looked very small, far from the haughty, impossible brat he had first been acquainted with.

“If he knew how I’ve been despoiled, my father would look at me like I am dirt,” he pronounced. “But at least he will look at me for once.”

“You deserve better. You are royalty…Laufey’s own son.”

“I am a weakling and an outcast in my own family. And now I have been ravished and ruined by a slave.”

Those words hit a nerve. “I am _not_ a slave.”

The little jötunn only smirked bitterly. “You should be glad; as a war prize you have clearly won some favour of my father. Which is more than I can say for myself.”

“Your family should value you more,” Thor said softly. “You are skilled; you know more magic than anyone in this place. You treasure books, knowledge. And – ” He watched Loki slide a lock of glossy hair behind ne ear, marvelling at how even the simplest gesture looked so comely. “You have a lovely voice. I wish I could understand what you were singing.” 

“Keep wishing. Preferably from a distance.” Loki’s features rearranged themselves into an impenetrable mask, cutting him off.

Thor knew he had no other course but to leave. He had done enough wrong, after all, to consider forcing his company on his brother a second time.

~

Surprisingly, Loki did not throw curses or a hostile stare the next time he dared to approach. It had been a terribly lonely few days as Thor maintained a respectful distance, a poor attempt to make up for his transgressions. While wandering the library and wishing sorely he could have access to the contents of its tomes, he came upon Loki with nose buried a slim volume bound in deep green leather.

The princeling sensed him immediately and looked at him with suspicion. “What do you want now?” 

“Will you…teach me? To understand your language?” His fingers tentatively brushed the pages of the books stacked high between them. “Or you could just read to me.”

“Am I now to be saddled with an overgrown babe in need of bedtime stories?” Loki scoffed. But a mere moment later he picked up another volume, a worn but beautiful manuscript with pages edged in gold. “Few know that the jötnar write poetry. This contains some of my favourites.”

Thor leaned forward. The unfamiliar runes had a sort of harsh beauty, much like Jötunheimr itself. “Read it to me?”

Loki sighed as if he were being greatly troubled. But then he began to read, foreign words in a lilting voice, and Thor realized after a while that his eyes had fallen shut. He was reciting, not reading, and for a rare moment looked exquisitely at peace.

When he had finished, the young prince opened his eyes and blinked. “Much of the auditory beauty of the piece translates poorly,” he stated. “It mostly details the different kinds of winter in Jötunheimr." 

“There’s more than one kind of winter?” He expected Loki to scorn his ignorance, but instead the delicate mouth turned upward in a manner that was amused rather than cruel.

Loki, it seemed, enjoyed having an audience. He conjured wisps of illusory ice to show the differences in the realm’s wintry seasons, fractal patterns erupting from his fingertips as he spoke. It was utterly entrancing.

From thereon he visited the library almost daily. And Loki almost never turned him away. Once or twice Thor made the mistake of allowing a gaping smile to cross his face; it generally made Loki waspish and curt. But the chill never lasted long. Thor sensed he was secretly, deeply lonely – even more so than himself, who had known kinship and affection in his childhood.

“Do your brothers enjoy these sorts of things?” he was compelled to ask, remembering with fondness sitting on his father Odin’s lap and being regaled with tales of valour.

Loki shrugged. “My brothers are more renowned for their battle prowess and strength than their thoughts on poetry. As are you, I’m sure.”

So it was, as he had suspected. A chasm lay between Thor’s little stepbrother and his blood kin, contributing to his lonely existence. But Thor had no desire to be on their side. “We need not be adversaries.”

It turned out the wrong thing to say. Loki’s eyes flashed and he slammed the book shut, springing to his feet. “I would have been inclined to agree before you violated me,” he spat.

The full weight of guilt returned to Thor’s belly. He did not stop Loki from turning to leave – but then the latter suddenly gave a soft cry and pitched forward. Thor reached out to catch him.

“What is it?”

Loki’s face was turning a strange shade of pale blue. “I don’t feel so good.”

“How? Where do you hurt?”

Loki groaned in reply. And then he stiffened and vomited a thin stream of bile, along with the morning’s half-digested breakfast.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Loki’s family did not seem nearly as worried about his health as Thor hoped they might be. One of his brothers even rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong with the little princess now?” The other one guffawed until Laufey-king cleared his throat in warning. It was all Thor could do not to openly glare daggers at the two jötun siblings.

It was only because of his meddling that Laufey called on the healers to see to Loki’s well-being. Alas, they were not particularly bothered about discretion regarding his condition. Before Thor or Loki could stop them, they announced to the king: “The princeling is pregnant."

Loki’s kin reacted predictably: scandalised, then disdainful, their condemning looks burning holes into Loki’s narrow back. But the most intimidating reaction was from the king himself, who did not roar in outrage but sat calmly with steepled fingers.

“Bring him before me,” he ordered. His voice was very quiet.

“My lord,” said the healer, “Loki is still weak and at rest – ”

The silence that filled the room as Laufey stared her down was deafening. She quailed and bowed before scurrying off.

Thor was appalled at the king’s treatment of his own son. Loki was pale and on the verge of collapse even as he held himself with pride before the humiliation he was subject to. The heads of nobility had assembled when he entered, and bathed him in stares of cold disapproval.

It was decreed that he would be hidden away – a prisoner even more so than Thor, who was at least free to roam the grounds – until the babe was born. “Once it is birthed,” Laufey continued, “we will determine if the child if fit to live, or if its brains should be dashed against the nearest rock as a mercy.” At this last cruel pronouncement, Loki’s façade cracked and twin rivulets of tears ran down his face.

Once they left the king’s court, Thor threw an arm around Loki, whose tears continued to flow silently. Then suddenly his head snapped up and he hastily wiped the wetness away. His brothers were blocking their exit from the hallway, breathing down their space. Thor’s hand slid around Loki’s back to steady him. 

“So, who is it?” sneered wiry Helblindi, his narrow face and cheekbones bearing traces to Loki’s own features. “Someone in the palace, or outside it? Do you spread your legs for just anyone in the kingdom?” 

“I’m sure there are at least a handful for whom lying with a deformed runt is a novelty,” says Býleistr. “How they filled our little brother’s cunt without splitting him clean open is a mystery.” Loki’s tongue, usually so sharp, lay still as a stone. He instinctively draped a hand over his stomach when Helblindi leaned in.

“Father must have hired you as a bodyguard,” said the broad-shouldered giant to Thor, “to keep him from offering himself to anyone who would have him. I must say you’re not doing a very good job.”

“I am a glorified prisoner of war,” Thor growled. “And I am here so your armies would not storm down the walls and have their rape of Asgard.”

“Rather mouthy for a war prize, and a slave. Should we show him how to behave, ‘Blindi?” Býleistr shoved Thor in the chest. Before he could retaliate, Loki was gripping his arm. “Don’t make things worse,” he hissed. With all his strength, he pulled and coaxed Thor down the corridor. Once they were out of sight and earshot, Thor drove his fist into a wall, not caring how it hurt. “I would love to stab them in their sleep,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“Any offense you commit against them will only be taken out on me,” Loki replied. His voice was faint as he swayed on the spot. “That is just…how it is.” Thor caught him just in time before he passed out cold.

As he hoisted Loki into his arms without much effort, savouring the soft weight of the dark-haired head on his chest, they were accosted two towering guards on each side.

“We are to take Prince Loki to his new quarters. You may accompany him if you wish.”

Thor squared his shoulders and tightened his grip around the unconscious Loki. “Lead the way.” 

It was a prison, to be sure, but a large and lavish one. Thor looked around as the doors swung shut behind them and wondered if their palatial surroundings would be much comfort to Loki. He laid his brother down gently on a sprawling bed that was made for a full-sized jötunn, then lay beside him, pulling the blankets up around them. He was grateful for their thickness. Luxurious or not, the bedchamber was not half as warm as he would have liked. 

Loki’s face had lost the sharpness of pain for now. He looked terribly young, and achingly lovely. Thor wondered if he had taken him too early – if Loki was mature enough to be with child. What if the suffering that lay ahead fell squarely on his shoulders? With difficulty, he pushed the thought away. There was nothing he could do now but take care of his brother. And he would do so with every waking moment. 

After all, there was little else for him to do. And they had only each other now.

He kissed Loki’s forehead and felt an overwhelming rush of tenderness. He let his lips brush the intricate whorls, stroked the soft black hair, and fell asleep with his little brother’s sweet scent filling his senses as their shared warmth rocked him like a lullaby.


	2. A Longing For Death, A Hunger For Love

In the ensuing weeks Thor fell into a routine of sorts. While a servant had been tasked with bringing regular meals to the chambers where Loki was holed up as his belly began to swell, Thor took it upon himself to act as entertainment, companionship, and helping Loki with tasks such as cleaning himself when he was too tired and moody to do so. Already there were signs that his pregnancy would not be an easy one. Loki also chafed bitterly at the loss of the small freedoms he had had before.

For his part, Thor bore his little brother’s fits of pique patiently. “Will I forever be subjected to your smug furred face?” he snarled one afternoon when Thor entered carrying a stack of library books he thought Loki might like. His face was neither smug nor had more than a day’s worth of stubble, but he was getting used to the mercurial outbursts.

“I can leave,” he offered. 

“Oh, yes, leave! You who are free to come and go. Leave me here to rot!” Loki began to sob, and Thor tried to comfort him only to be shoved away. “It is _your_ fault I am in this position in the first place, brute.”

“You never tire of reminding me. And yet it gets us nowhere.” A response that earned him a book to the head.

Sighing, he settled just out of range of anything that could be hurled at him and focused on his own book. He was becoming more versed in the language of the jötnar, but much of it still eluded him. Still, he tried, more as a peace offering than anything. He once made a disaster out of a poem he tried reading to Loki when the latter was having trouble sleeping. Loki looked at him incredulously, then started shaking with laughter.

It was the only time he had seen such genuine, unbridled amusement. He only wished it was a more frequent occurrence. Loki cried a worrying amount, barely touching his food despite warnings that it would harm the child as well as himself. He stopped resisting Thor’s embraces and murmurings of comfort, but his emotional state did not improve. Perhaps the years of neglect, loneliness and shame was bubbling to the surface, abetted by the doubtless unpredictable hormones of his current state. Too often he cried himself to sleep in Thor’s arms with exhaustion and sorrow marking his lovely features.

“I love you,” whispered Thor one night when he could no longer hold back the words. “I wish I could take some of your pain.” He kissed the sleep-softened lips, wishing they would kiss back. “My Loki. I wish you would make me yours.”

Despite his concern and longing to watch over Loki, restlessness eventually set in. Unlike his brother, Thor was not restricted in his movements within the palace grounds, so he decided to spend a day out exploring them. He went to the stables and gazed upon the magnificent steeds whose eyes were like fire-gems; he wandered the orchards and marvelled at the strange crystalline fruits sprouting from the extraordinary trees that grew tall in a climate where most green things barely survived. He walked and walked until his lungs felt raw from the icy air and his skin desired nothing more than the warmth of a fire.

He returned with the intention of asking Loki if he could conjure flames, despite the likelihood that it would result in something thrown at him. 

The sight that greeted him made his heart stop. Loki was lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

 _“Shit!”_ Thor rushed to his side and saw a jagged slash across his stomach. “What…no…” 

Loki’s eyes fluttered open; they were dull, glassy. “You need to…finish…what I failed to do,” he mumbled.

“ _Why,_ Loki?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” 

“But…” Thor’s heart was pounding as he fumbled around the well-stocked collection of medicinal herbs. Was there something here that could stem blood flow? “But they _know_ you’re with child. It’s not like there is anything to hide now.” 

“You fool,” Loki said weakly. “When the child is born, they will know it is not fully jötun. They will know it is _yours._ ”

“I can’t find anything,” Thor murmured frantically as he scoured the labels on the jars and bottles. “I’m calling a healer.”

“Finish what you started, Thor!” Loki’s faint cry haunted him as he ran down the corridor. _“Finish it!”_

Thor wandered restlessly outside the room, ejected forcibly by the healers for his incessant pacing. He had not realized just how bound he was to Loki, not merely by force, but simply by having been allowed to touch and hold him and suffer his maddening little ways. He would never forgive himself if his stepbrother – his beloved – came to grievous harm. He would throw himself off one of Jötunheimr’s jagged cliffs if Loki died.

After an eternity, the doors were open to him again. “You may see him now,” said Jarn, the austere head healer who wore a perpetual look of disapproval. 

Loki was frighteningly pale. He was also, Thor realized, rather too thin for someone growing a child inside them. His eyes were heavy with beckoning sleep; he had been sedated. Thor kissed his slack lips, his cheek, his shoulder. He studied the jagged wound that had been sealed but still burned a deep angry pink. “Tell me you’ll be alright,” he whispered.

 _“Nnnhh,”_ was all Loki could respond with. Thor interlocked his fingers with Loki’s and stayed with him till he was deep in slumber.

“Will he lose the child?” he asked when an assistant returned to shoo him out.

“We jötnar are a hardy race. He will keep it. But his pregnancy will be a hard one; he is young, and undersized besides.” 

Thor squeezed Loki’s hand before reluctantly releasing it. “I will be with him through it all.” _I will do everything in my power to make it easy,_ he thought, _little power that I have. I swear it._

At some point he must have fallen asleep. But his senses were so attuned to Loki that he stirred awake at his brother’s groggy mutterings. He seemed reluctantly glad to see Thor and sighed in appreciation when Thor’s hand squeezed his. “Did it work?” His voice was coarse and small and afraid.

“Did _what_ work?" 

A look of irritation crossed Loki’s face, making him look more like himself. “Am I still with child?”

Thor’s heart dropped. Through all this time, he had never guessed the terrible intent forming in Loki’s head. Had he not wept when Laufey first threatened to kill his child? “They…they managed to preserve your pregnancy. No lasting harm done,” he said with forced cheer.

Loki’s hands curled into fists. “You say those words as if they are glad tidings,” he hissed. “I would rather die than see this child born!” He arched up towards Thor, breathing hard. “I would rather DIE!”

“Loki, please don’t damage your – it’s just started to heal – " 

“The damage was INTENDED!” Loki was near hysterical. “Do you know what they _said_ about me? Even as they were carefully mending my wound, as if I wasn’t _there?_ ” His narrow chest continued heaving as his breath came in fits and starts. “About how I was n-nothing but trouble, a waste of the little space I occupy – how I am a _stain_ on the royal lineage, and now spreading my legs like a whore for the first willing cock…and…and…”

He blinked frantically, having worked himself into a breathless state. Thor held him and rubbed his back, aching deeply on his behalf. “Loki, please, you have to calm down.” As the small pathetic choking sounds gradually evened out, he stroked the dark soft hair in the way that seemed to soothe him. “If you miscarry, you could hurt yourself,” he murmured. “Do you want to die that badly?” 

There was no answer save a small, sharp moan. His entire body was tense and trembling.

“Loki?”

“It _hurts._ Everything hurts.”

Not knowing what to do, Thor called for Nótt, the healer’s assistant. “Will you give him something for the pain? He says he is hurting.”

“I do not need anything,” Loki protested, scowling fiercely despite the agony.

“You need rest,” said Nótt. She pushed Loki onto his back and tried to pour a dosage of clear liquid down his throat, only for him to spit it back out. Apparently prepared for such retaliation, she produced a folded cloth soaked in the same solution and pressed it to his nose and mouth.

“Nggfh!” Loki lashed out weakly with little effect. Already drained from his earlier struggles, he put up only a brief fight before succumbing to the drug with a series of increasingly subdued whimpers. With a defeated sigh, his eyelids fell shut. 

“You don’t need to do that,” Thor mumbled as she tied the unconscious princeling to the bed with cords made of a thin but strong silk-like substance. 

“He’ll try to hurt himself and demand more attention. It is not like we don’t have better to attend to,” she added coolly.

“Why does every single person in this place treat him terribly?” Thor burst out. “His biggest mistake was being _born_ , and you look at him like dirt for it!” 

She cast an icy glare on him. “You forget your place,” was all she said before leaving.

 _No, I haven’t,_ Thor wanted to answer. _My place is right here. With him._

Waking up at all seemed reason enough for Loki’s ire. It did not help matters when the latest bout of being forcibly sedated had resulted in being tied to the bed. 

Thor saw him struggle and rushed to his side. “Peace, brother,” he said soothingly, laying a hand on the warm forehead. “I think your temperature has gone down.” Briefly, he entertained an image of himself leaning over the bound little jötunn and slipping a hand around his shapely cock, bringing him off to a symphony of delicious whimpers and writhing, with promises to help break his fever. He felt terrible for it.

“So I am not to die today? Joy to the Norns.” Loki’s voice was defeated and petulant. “I don’t suppose I will be released anytime soon.”

“You know why it is necessary,” Thor said gently. “Until it can be assured that you are not a danger to yourself or your unborn – ” He moved to cup Loki’s face, but Loki jerked away as much as he was able, eyes glittering feverishly.

“And who put me here in the first place?” he hissed. “WHO PUT ME HERE?” he shouts when he received no reply. His next words were softer, his voice fraying and full of despair. “What reason have I to live? I am neither king-to-be, nor am I marriage-worthy now. And I am being maligned beyond repair and imprisoned for a crime I did not commit.”

A tear escaped him. “Do you think Laufey will be accepting of the child once its parentage is revealed? It would be merciful if he dashed my head against a rock along with the baby’s.”

Thor did not know how to respond. He took Loki’s hand in his and kissed it, running his mouth over it, wishing he could paint in perfect words the depth of tenderness and desire he wished to shower his brother with. “I am sorry. For the odds so grossly stacked against you since birth, and for my own gross mistake.”

To his surprise, Loki answered: “I accept your apology.”

Thor looked up. Loki’s eyes were no longer glaring daggers. They were almost seductive. “Untie me, brother.”

“I…” 

“Please.” The voice was velvety, pleading, sending an unwanted sliver of heat straight to Thor’s loins. He wanted to free Loki – yet he also wanted to behold him in this state, beautiful and bound and _his._ At his mercy. Without thinking, he ran his fingers down the erogenous whorls curving downward from Loki’s navel. The little prince bit back a moan.

“If I let you free,” Thor murmurs, “how will I know you won’t harm yourself again?”  
  
“You won’t. But at least you won’t be _quite_ as complicit in my captivity as you would be otherwise.” He shuddered at Thor’s touch. At the fingers that were brushing his cock and his cunt. Both were flushed and glistening with pre-spend. He choked back wordless sounds of need. He bit them back till his teeth pierced his bottom lip and drew blood.

“Stop doing that,” Thor whispered, trying to part Loki’s lips so he would not reduce them to shreds. Loki let out a sudden long, sharp moan that was unmistakably lusty in nature. Thor looked nervously in the direction of the doors and wondered if anyone had heard it.

“It’s happening,” Loki gasped.

“ _What_ is happening?”

“A common…affliction…of a jötunn with child. Fluctuating hormones. Unpredictable needs.” Loki’s hips were arching as much as his restraints would allow. “I – I need you to fuck me.”

Thor swallowed even as his cock stiffened so strongly it hurt. “Are you sure?”

In response Loki only let out a louder, jagged cry that made Thor rush to clamp a hand over his lips. He looked around and spotted a clean swathe of bandages on the bedside table. Grabbing a handful of the gauzy fabric, he wadded it up and stuffed it into Loki’s mouth.

“Alright, I’ll do it. But I need you to be quiet, alright?”

“Mmmmgghh,” came the senseless gurgle. Loki’s eyes rolled wildly as he writhed. He looked far gone, caught in the throes of his own uncontrollable urges.

Carefully he straddled the bed, thanking the fact that it had been made for giants and so accommodated both of them well enough. He took Loki’s male sex in one hand while pushing at the female one beneath with the head of his already leaking cock. Loki’s stifled panting was sharp and urgent even through the gag. As he began thrusting in, he was immediately overwhelmed with a dizzying sensation, as if Loki’s overflowing hormones were somehow seeping into him. It made him lose control and rut like an animal, grunting and pushing mindlessly, delighting in the slap of skin against skin.

The chamber, the entire world, disappeared; nothing was left save his wild, terrible, wonderful need that answered the depth of Loki’s own perfectly and thoroughly. 

It was uncertain how long he lasted before he came with a great shudder. His lungs sucked in air as he panted, bent over Loki’s body, and felt the world come back into focus. The little jötunn was also breathing hard, head lolling limply on the pillow. Thor wondered just how loud he had been. He looked down and realized that Loki’s cock, hard and flushed a deep purple, was still unsated. 

“Here,” he whispered. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” With one hand firmly over the gagged mouth just to be safe, he stroked the curved length steadily, faster and faster, until Loki screamed into his palm and gushed silvery spend all over his belly, going limp a second after. The narrow chest rose and fell till his body stabilized once more, the wild aching need gone for now. The dark-lashed eyelids fluttered and fell shut as Thor removed the damp cloth from his mouth. He kissed Loki’s slack lips as he used the edge of the blankets to wipe off their combined fluids. 

“Stay with me,” came the faintest whisper.

“I will,” he promised.


	3. That Which We Hold Dear

Thor wondered if the healers who came the next day suspected what had transpired in the pristine high-domed room – if their cold-sharpened senses smelt trace of sex and guilt hanging heavy in the air. They remarked on Loki’s rapid recovery, and the look that crossed Jarn’s austere face when his gaze fell to the Ás made it clear he suspected Thor had done a bit more than sit chastely by his brother’s side.

Loki was released back to his designated chambers. He showed no further signs of being desirous of Thor’s touch, nor did he push him away. For a while they orbited each other closely in a companionable existence, during which Thor worked to earn Loki’s trust without complaint. When for a span of two months Loki craved the dark glistening fruit that grew in the palace orchards, Thor took it upon himself to procure them. Dressed in dull shades with his fair hair hidden, he used the advantage of his comparatively slight size to slip past the guards and clamber up the silvery branches to snatch their juicy treasures, all the while fearing he would lose his head for it. Once he very nearly fell when his frozen numb fingers caused his grip to falter. 

At least Loki seemed to appreciate the effort. After coming back blue with cold the first time, he unfailingly returned to a blazing fire and a sweet, almost radiant smile. Loki made for most congenial company then, casting vivid illusions to accompany his lessons in poetry.

Thor kept a vigilant eye on him all the same, hoping he wouldn’t make another attempt at abortion. His fears seemed unwarranted, however. For a stretch of time Loki seemed almost content. One morning, Thor woke up to find him singing in lilting jötun while stroking his belly. Singing to his child. Thor smiled at the sight, and did not care when Loki caught him watching. In that moment it dawned on him that this was his child, too. _Their_ child.

He was going to be a father. 

Once that realization filled him, Thor grew all the more protective. He fell into fits of ‘hovering and hand-wringing’ as Loki put it, and became damn near insufferable when the mood took him. “You are smothering me,” his brother snapped one day as Thor attempted to help him braid his hair. He snatched the half-done braid away and slowly wove the locks of hair in demonstration. “See: this is how it’s done, you half-wit.”

Thor wove the rest of the braid with relative success and a rueful smile. “My fingers are still clumsy.”

Loki rolled his eyes but did not chide him further. His tongue seldom kept its edge for long now, and he would shove Thor clean away only to lay his head on his lap minutes later. He had a habit of falling asleep with his head and shoulders appropriating some part of Thor. Even when he was engrossed in a book and begged not to be disturbed “unless you are literally dying”, his legs would end up draped over his big brother’s lap at some point.

Thor never really minded. He fully enjoyed their time together now that a parent-to-be’s instinct had taken root inside him the way it had softened Loki’s abrasive ways. Gone were the days when Loki could kill a jovial moment with a reminder of Thor’s past transgressions. He did not object when Thor put a hand or head to his domed stomach to feel the life growing within. For the first time in his life, Loki was actually, fully happy. 

It was too much to hope that the halcyon days would last. Nótt had been right when she pronounced that the pregnancy would be difficult for Loki’s size and tender age. Soon he could scarcely walk across the room without collapsing in an exhausted heap. He had trouble keeping more than half of every meal down. He fell into sudden fevers, clawing at his overheated skin. Thor felt maddeningly helpless to stop this series of assaults upon his beloved prince.

“Are you not even a little bit soothed?” he asked as he frantically filled the tub with more slabs of ice while Loki stirred feverishly in the chilled water, his skin somehow still hot where it wasn’t immersed. He did not answer; he was delirious, murmuring and whining in his native tongue. Thor understood snatches of it: he was crying for someone. Crying for his mother. 

Thor’s heart felt like it would shatter. He wondered if Loki had ever had a mother, one who held him and loved him and had not cast him out to wither from neglect. With tears stinging his eyes, he cradled Loki’s head and crooned the lullabies of his own home: tunes that Frigga had calmed him with when he was a child. His singing left much to be desired, but it seemed to help a little. Loki’s senseless muttering turned into small, tired sobs. He reached out to grasp Thor’s wrist. 

“I love you,” Thor whispered as he rained kisses on the hot forehead.

Loki’s answer was barely audible. It sounded to hopeful ears like “I love you too.” 

The fever stretched on for nearly half a moon, during which recuperation was an uphill climb. Until the worst of the heat passed, Loki could accept only small mouthfuls of soft food and remained confined to bed while he struggled with the indignity of having to be fed and cleaned. To make him feel better, Thor said he should be grateful that the jötnar’s way of processing waste involved a lot less mess – and odour – than softer fleshy beings such as himself. “You would make a less pretty sight soaking in shit and piss,” he stated cheerfully, hoping to turn Loki’s half-hearted scowl around. 

After the sickness finally passed, he found himself unable to leave Loki’s side, despite the latter’s weakening protests. Loki appeared drained all the time even when he was eating properly and consuming a whole long list of herbs and concoctions besides. Sometimes he suspected the healers of poisoning him instead of keeping him nourished. He began to fear that he would be raising their child on his own – such a possibility left him paralysed with black despair. He could see no future for himself where Loki was not present. If the birth killed both mother and babe, it might as well kill him too.

“Don’t say such things,” Loki replied when he voiced these dark thoughts. Slender azure fingers brushed locks of unkempt hair from his face. The prince was tender in his fragility. How often had Thor longed for him to be softer, his tongue less offensive, those proud limbs more willing to melt into his own? He would have given much to have the old temperamental Loki back if it meant he was no longer perpetually close to death. 

One night when the moon was full in the sky and Thor was cradling Loki’s weight close to his, their bodies fitting perfectly even with the swell of Loki’s belly, his brother whispered:

“There is only way this can end that will not doom us both, and our child.” 

He fought against beckoning sleep, tired after a day of fretting over his beloved. “What is that?”

“You must marry me.”

Well, _now_ he was awake. “I must what?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you did not see this coming.”

Thor rubbed the grit from his eyes. “I suppose…it makes sense. But am I even allowed to wed one of your kind?”

“Such intermarriages happen all the time. For diplomacy and other reasons.”

“Yes – but you forget, Loki. I am not an eligible mate prized for the potential to unite kingdoms.” He sighed. “I am a trophy of war. Little more.”

“And I am the sluttish, malformed outcast carrying your child. I would say we are evenly matched.” He cuddled closer to Thor, sliding a slender arm around his broad frame. “It would be the first thing my father and I have ever agreed on.” 

They mulled over the details of this announcement for several more days, hesitating and agonizing. It was Loki’s weakening state that finally hastened their move to call for an audience with the king. It was a right that Laufey was bound by law to respect.

For this brief but momentous occasion, he insisted on appearing in the regalia of a prince. “Runt or not, they will recognise me this once.” 

Thor was familiar with the adornments of the jötnar, if not their deeper intricacies and significance. He had been summoned to appear at two official functions and one banquet where he was exposed to fascinating variations in paint, gold leaf, gemstones and lustrous textiles in place of the usual sturdy hides. He perpetually chafed at the fact that Loki was never invited to these occasions – an indication that even his decorative value as a trophy was worth more than the son Jötunheimr preferred to forget. 

Still, not having to do more than sit at Laufey-king’s side gave him plenty of time to observe the heights of splendour achievable by the noble classes. He knew, for example, that only nobles of kingly lineage were allowed to emulate the horns royalty were born with by way of helmets or tiaras with curving faux-hornlets. He knew that while gold was traditional, silver and onyx were becoming fashionable of late, but all-black was off limits and reserved only for militia.

He watched as Loki combed the dark wavy hair till it shone and tied it back with golden bands inlaid with blood-red gems, adorning his slender limbs with matching bracelets and anklets. He managed to stop his fingers trembling long enough to paint two craftily curved streaks above and below his eyes in gold and crushed malachite. The torque necklace worn only by royalty went on next; finally, Thor helped him with the intricately carved headpiece that weighed nearly too much for his diminished strength to bear. Yet they gave his horns a remarkably regal appearance, ringing them with precious stones. 

He leaned on Thor’s arms, rising to his feet, and took a deep breath. “Let us proceed.” He gave his chosen a quick glance top to toe. “I’m glad you bothered to wash your hair, at least.”

“I nearly didn’t,” Thor mock-confessed. “I wanted to impress your father with my natural musky scent native to the wilds of Asgard.”

He expected a roll of the ruby-coloured eyes, and was pleasantly surprised with a laugh. Impulsively, he pulled in his bride-to-be for a kiss.

“I love you,” he breathed. 

“I know.”

Laufey heard Loki’s proposal with a face of stone, his dignified features like the unforgiving cliffs on the permafrost-laced edges of Jötunheimr’s wild woods. His eyes, a deeper red than those of his sons’, slid impassively from Loki to Thor and back again. He did not flinch or even glare when Thor was revealed to be the father of the child. It was had Thor had suspected: the king was no fool. His suspicions of their dalliance were merely being confirmed.

“The way I see it – and we have discussed this at length – there are no drawbacks to this union, at least none that would outweigh the benefits of legitimising a bastard birth,” said Loki as a close to his carefully rehearsed speech.

Just as Thor was about to crack beneath the unbearable tension, Laufey finally spoke. “Do you suppose the people will readily accept what resembles a ploy to place an Æsir-born among jötun royalty? 

“I had considered that, my king.” He had to admire Loki’s composure, knowing he must be ready to collapse from the weight of his horned crown and the anxiety coiling in both their bellies. “I doubt, however, that someone like myself would have been a suitable choice for such a scheme. But still, rumours can be wild and unpredictable things. And I would like to propose that I be given a humble, reasonably well-furnished dwelling far from the palace quarters once the marriage has been sealed. A ceremony that is arranged as soon as possible.” A brief pause. “I beg also that Thor be given the right to pay visit every half a year once the child is born.” The slightest tremor shook Loki’s voice at this last few words. “His place remains at your side. This I cannot change.” 

Thor could barely keep himself from turning his head, fixing wide eyes on the ground as his heart thudded. Did Loki really intend to bear his – _their_ – child into the world alone? Why had he been kept from these plans; did his brother trust him so little? 

Laufey-king sighed. “I do not doubt that you have given this thorough thought. That, at least, I appreciate. But I must consider how the marriage will look to both the court and the common folk. Thor Odinson was Asgard’s golden prince. When Odin gave him to us, he gave also his finest warrior, bearer of heirs, and would-be king. It would not be seemly of me to bind a prized symbol of surrender to…”

“To a malformed runt with no prospects who is also pregnant out of wedlock,” Loki finished for him. “I understand.” His face remained still, but a flush crept up his neck and sculpted cheeks. “But neither is it very seemly for Asgard’s golden prince to produce a bastard child with said malformed runt. And so no one shall know that he has.”

Laufey frowned. “What do you mean by that?” 

“I mean that Thor Odinson shall marry me as an act of mercy, proving his noble nature to any who would question the act. He will do it to spare the child a life of shame.”

“Shame that will be yours alone, should you choose to pursue this course that will reveal your gravid condition to all.” 

“My lord, I would wager my right leg that hearsay already abounds. Hiding me away will not hide the truth. And what good is a royal family if it cannot survive a scandal or two?” A mirthless smile curved his lips. 

“I am capable of bearing such shame. In that, at least, you have raised me well.” 

The king’s eyes narrowed, but Loki’s barb had just the right amount of sting. When he sighed again, Thor knew they had won. And the victory tasted bitter on his too-still tongue.

Loki had fainted dead away in his arms shortly after the ordeal and did not wake for the next two hours. Thor had removed his garb and wiped the paint from his face and laid him down gently on fluffed pillows, all the while wanting to scream at him. 

After a while, exhausted by his own thoughts, he fell asleep beside his betrothed.

He was stirred by a hard kick in his shins. “Ouuggh!”

“Sorry. It was the babies.” Loki was wincing but appeared otherwise alright.

“The baby crawled out of your belly to kick me in the leg?”

“No, that was me. It was a reaction to their kicking.”

Thor blinked the sleep from his eyes as he went over what Loki had just said. “What do you mean by _babies_ …and _their?_ ” He laid a hand on Loki’s stomach. “Are we having twins?”

Loki’s small smile was extinguished when he added, louder and more roughly than he intended: “Is there anything _else_ you were hiding from me?”

“If you are talking about my decision to raise them away from the court – ”

“Away from _me_ – ”

“ – you would have disagreed. Your face already tells me I was right to keep my plans from you.”

“I want to be with you, Loki. Through all of this; through _everything._ I am the father of these children – ”

“And that gives you the right to dictate how _I_ , the bearer of said children, decide the best course to mend the wrongs _you_ had a hand in?”

Thor’s lips clamped shut and his brow thundered over. For all his blossoming sweetness and docility, Loki still knew how to play his trump card.

He waited until Loki had calmed over perusing a book on child-rearing practices before venturing: “There is nothing I would not do to make up for my error. You know that.”

“Then do so, and allow me to make my decisions in peace."

“Should at least a few of those not be our decisions?” 

Loki’s glare was enough to shut him up. At least on the subject of the children.

After a brief silence, he asked: “So…have you any plans for the wedding?”

Loki slammed his book shut, and he wondered what he had done wrong this time. But then a new enthusiastic light filled the crimson eyes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Thor had never attended or witnessed a jötun marriage ceremony, and his betrothed took to his education keenly and immediately. He was just a little alarmed when he found out Loki had already penned both their vows (even though there was an entire tome dedicated to such recitations). “It never hurts to be prepared.” Loki pushed a copy into his hands. “Please spend as much time as you can committing them to heart. I shall never forgive you if you commit such blunders in front of Jötunheimr’s ruling nobility.”

“Very well. Is there anything else I should burn into my memory?”

“Not much. I have made rough schematics of the small chamber to be used for our wedding rites – it will not be a full-blown banquet, you understand; merely a simple, private ceremony.” From the rather detailed sketches and notes, Thor surmised that he and Loki had very different ideas of what ‘simple’ meant. “What do you think of the silver frost-blooms? They were my childhood favourite. And they shall go well with these clusters of bloðberries." 

“I’m sure they’ll be beautiful. Knowing your exquisite taste.” 

The radiant smile told him he had said the right thing. “See, I _do_ value your opinion sometimes.” Then his shoulders sagged; he frowned and sighed. “Ymir be damned.”

“What is it?”

“I will have to rethink my outfit. It clashes with the crimson and silver. And I have not even begun to coordinate _your_ ensemble – ” 

“It is a brief, private ceremony as you’ve said. Is it really that impor – ”

“OF COURSE it’s important, Thor!” His mercurial bride-to-be turned on him with burning eyes and trembling lips. “It is the one thing – the _only_ thing – I will ever have to my name. But it’s fine if the golden son of Asgard does not comprehend – ” 

“Loki, please! I did not mean it that way.” Thor put his arms around the slender shoulders, rained kisses on the princely brow. “I want this to be everything you’ve deserved all these years. As a prince, and as my precious beloved.”

Mollified, Loki leaned into his embrace and laid his head on Thor’s shoulder. “Compared to Býleistr’s wedding, itwill be a paltry affair,” he murmured. “But for what it’s worth, I want it to be perfect.”

“How could it not be, with you at the centre of it?”

“Even if I could match his height, I could never achieve half his magnificence.”

Thor clasped his neck and brought his face close for a deep, soft kiss. “Perhaps the opinion of an Ás does not count for much here. But you are the most beautiful being, of any race or blood, I have ever laid eyes upon. I am dizzy at the thought of you with those frost flowers in your hair. You will be the loveliest bride in all of Jötunheimr, and all of Asgard, were you there.”

“Ah, but what is beauty without honour?” 

“The honour is all mine.” Impulsively, Thor swept Loki into his arms, savouring the weight of both his beloved and their twin babes. “I am proud to call you mine, Loki Laufeyson, and to be yours.”

Loki practically glowed. He curled an arm around Thor’s neck. “I need you to take me,” he demanded in a whisper. “Now.”

The ache and strain of his challenging pregnancy seemed to have eased off, replaced with another bout of lust. Unlike the first time, his heat was more gradual, less urgent, allowing Thor to tease and stroke him until he lay flushed and panting with his cunt and cock both swollen with need. Ripe, glistening, suffused with deep pink and lavender. Thor delighted in putting his tongue to good use on them. When his tongue slipped past the labia into the fleshy folds, Loki nearly screamed. 

“If you do not fuck me properly now, Odinson,” he gasped, “I am kicking you out of this chamber.”

“But then who would finish you off?”

“I am perfectly capable of doing it my – _ahh!!_ ”

“Can you, though? Do it the way I can?”

“Are those _four_ fingers?”

“I can make it five if you wish.” Thor withdrew his hand and slipped his well-coated fingers into Loki’s mouth, feeding him his own juices. Loki moaned around them, eyelids fluttering, each thrust of his hips begging _Fuck me already._

“Shall we not wait for our wedding night?”

“I am already ruined, husband-to-be. You are a war trophy; now make _me_ your spoils of war.”

His lust-addled words sent a shock of heat straight to Thor’s already roused loins. He was intensely galvanised by the idea of Loki as his prize, his slave-bride, his to do with as he wished. Without sparing another second he climbed atop Loki, pushing hips against hips, pinning down the little prince with his bulk while being careful with the swollen belly between them. 

“Beg me for it, then,” he breathed. He slid the length of his cock against the dripping cunt. “Admit your defeat, my lovely little jötunn.”

“Never,” Loki cried as he struggled in a pretty show of defiance.

“Your body takes well to my seed. I will fill you with many more children, and you will submit to every second of breeding like a good bride should.”

“No, please! Have mercy, my lord!”

“I will fill you with my cock night and day. And you will learn to love it – to ache for it, begging me to fill you up, wet for me at a moment’s notice.”

Loki mock-wept his shamed submission. “Be gentle with me, my lord.”

“Shush. You’ve no right to make demands, little one. You belong to me now.” 

Thor fucked him in deep, full thrusts, withdrawing and slamming back in to the rhythm of his broken wails that belied how much he loved every moment of being filled with Thor’s generously sized sex. He looked exquisite with his flushed cheeks and mouth hanging open like an invitation. The next time, Thor decided, that is where my cock will be. For now he delighted in pinning down Loki’s delicate wrists and rendering him immobile, helpless to resist his increasingly rapid rutting as he himself was helpless to his impulses. It seemed Loki’s body wished to devour him and make him part of it forever; he could swear the pliant muscles clenching around his cock were pulling him in. He spilt his orgasm deep into its needy depths and collapsed, panting, by Loki’s side.

“Have I pleased you well, my lord?”

Loki’s voice was as submissive as ever. But when he opened his eyes, it was to a small smile full of mischief. His heart skipped a beat; he felt newly in love again and giddy with it.

“More than well enough. You shall not be punished for defying me after all.”

“Mmm. I should hope you do not hesitate to punish me if I do.”

Thor stroked his face that was still warm from the exertion of their lovemaking. “Has this always been a fantasy of yours: to be taken by force, as a slave for pleasure?”

Loki’s eyes grew serious, lost in thought for a moment. “I must suppose so. I don’t know. No one taught me a thing about pleasuring myself or…well, matters of the flesh.”

“Your discovery must have been a revelation.”

“Not one I prefer to repeat.” Loki frowned.

“It wasn’t an enjoyable experience?”

A sigh hung heavy between them. “If only I had come to terms with it the way so many do, learning what comes naturally.” 

“Did…were you forced?”

“No.” 

“It troubles you, nonetheless.” He stroked Loki’s face, savouring the delicate planes and simmering with fury that anyone would hurt such a lovely creature.

“It was a friend of Helblindi’s. Very attractive, and as cruel as ‘Blindi himself could be when the mood took him. But I was used to it, I suppose. I even welcomed his taunting – flattered he was paying attention to me.”

Loki’s face darkened. “Then one day, I insulted him in return. He pushed me into the ground, his body pressed against mine, and I…I felt my cock harden, suddenly, like it had never done before.”

He blushed and bit his lip at the memory. “It would have stopped there if not for…well. When he noticed what was happening…between my legs…” Loki had begun to tremble slightly; Thor wrapped him in a concerned embrace, feeling an icy tear trickle down his clavicle.

“Did he hurt you?” His heart thudded. "Force himself on you?"

“I would rather he had tried. What he did... or rather, said...hurt much more. I don’t wish to repeat it. But suffice to say he taught me one important lesson: that I should not hope for anyone to love me.”

Thor’s gentle hold turned into a tight hug. “I would say it is a poor lesson, and you should unlearn it.”

Tears spilt down Loki’s cheeks, and Thor wished he could kiss each and every one away. He did his best, stroking the narrow back and murmuring words of comfort and tracing the circular whorls that crowned Loki’s brow with his lips.

“I hereby pledge my love, my very self, to you.” The words hung between them in shared breaths, heavy and sweet and sacred. “I will dedicate the rest of my days to undoing every sorrow you have unfairly suffered.” 

Loki smiled tremulously. “Those are not quite the correct vows. But they are very good nonetheless.”

“Good, then I shall require fewer hours of practice.”

Loki pouted in protest that he should take such solemn matters less than seriously. But it was not a petulance that could withstand the soft assault of Thor’s lips. Soon he was panting for their warmth, aching to claim and to be claimed by them. And his husband-to-be was more than happy to oblige.

* 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _No one told me I was going to find you_  
>  Unexpected - what you did to my heart  
> When I lost hope,  
> you were there to remind me  
> this is the start...
> 
> _I'll be there when the world stops turning_  
>  I'll be there when the storm is through  
> in the end I want to be standing  
> at the beginning with you
> 
> At The Beginning (Lynn Ahrens / Steven Flaherty)


End file.
